


Untitled

by eaivalefay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-09-05
Updated: 2008-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eaivalefay/pseuds/eaivalefay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Salazar stumbles across something unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> AU (definitely not compliant from book six on). This is a first person story, with the point of view alternating between Salazar and Harry. This is also, as of yet, pre-Salazar/Harry. This started out as a series of drabbles, something I just started writing one night without much thought, and they are still in that drabble type of format, swinging between short viewpoints of Salazar and Harry. I personally like how it has turned out, but I would love to know what everyone else thinks.

  
You moved, a shadowed lump in the dark, hunched in a pained ball at the base of a tree.

I am no fool. I know what haunts the forest at my doorstep. I approached you slowly, wand drawn. You did not pounce, but I know you heard me as you whimpered at the crackling brush beneath my feet. It is no wonder you cried out. A wand was driven through your chest. How it got there is a mystery, but it should have killed you. Of that I am certain. If not the wand, then the three broken ribs and cut-ridden face. It was--is--a wonder the scent of your blood did not bring you to harm before my arrival. Simply another curious thing about you.

And it is true, what a curious creature you are; malnourished, damaged beyond repair, and still strong--dare I say, powerful.

Removing the wand from your body was a most interesting venture, a testament to my skill as a wizard. Even so, the pieces of glass ground into your flesh, tangled in your hair, those were the most fascinating injuries. Why should glass be so near your face? I was not sure I could mend your eyes. There is hope yet. I healed what I could and the rest... The rest can wait for Helga's return in a few days' time.

Now you sleep still. Will you be as curious to me when you wake?

*******

Pain is all I know when I swim out of unconsciousness. Explosive pain, almost numbing in its intensity. If only it were numbing. I know nothing else and I do not try to think.

A voice mutters near me, at my side. I do not hear the words, but whatever is said pushes the pain away, pushes it down, submerging it.

Finally I am able to think. I find that I don't like it. I remember red eyes and scrambling, screamed curses and pain. Only pain after that.

It is only now, as I try to ignore the images, the memories, that I think about my injuries. Everything hurts, pounds and pulses and stabs. It is now that I realize I can't see. A vague, more distant throb pulses over my eyes. I reach up gingerly to find a thick bandage covering them. A large hand grabs my own--gently--and urges it away back to my side. An unfamiliar, masculine voice is speaking to me. I don't understand and I don't answer. It is all too much.

I wish I was still asleep, or feeling that overwhelming pain. Anything to forget the thoughts swarming in my head. I want to run, or fly, and both are denied me in my present condition. Both would probably get me killed if I tried in this state. Just at this moment that doesn't sound too bad.

I'm not as slow as most people seem to think, or as foolhardy, and the careless thought of killing myself scares the hell out of me. I do the only thing I can think of and reach out, grasping for the disembodied voice's hand. I find it, I think with his assistance, and hold on. His fingers crush together in my tight grip, but I don't really care so long as I don't have to let go. His solid presence, however unknown, is better than being in my head, alone.

*******

You clutch my fingers with surprising strength. I do not think less of you for this show of apparent weakness--a shocking revelation for me. Such an act from anyone else would only be a reminder of their mundanity, their humanity. From you it only intrigues me further, perhaps because you don't speak. Or because your eyes are hidden from me, or because of your strength. This--you are a mystery I itch to solve.

As I watch you, watch ours hands fused together, I can only think of your grip and of Godric's. He had grabbed my hand similarly, once, after one of his ridiculous duels. I thought him weak, or stupid. He knew, and did not seek comfort from me again.

I wonder what color eyes you have.

*******

I fell asleep at some point, Merlin only knows for how long. I have no sense of time. I see no light, have barely a voice to ask with, have no magic to cast a spell. The pain is still there, but diminished. The hand in my own is still there--or is there again.

I can hardly remember anyone holding my hand, comforting me, let alone for so long: a night, an eternity. Mrs. Weasley comes to mind. She coddled me, protected me, clucked after me, but this foreign hand in my own feels different. It is calm and constant.

Why should he care?

The pain of my wounds grows the longer I am awake. I wonder what's happened. Where is Dumbledore? Yet this new presence lingers in my mind and the first rasped words from my lips are, "Why are you here with me?" It seems silly and entirely too relevant, too important. I wish I could take the words back.

*******  



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